


Your Voice is All I Hear

by SherlockianSyndromes



Series: Sherlock Drabbles [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 08:02:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19103023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockianSyndromes/pseuds/SherlockianSyndromes
Summary: Written for the Music comment_fic prompt: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Winter (Joshua Radin, Winter).Your voice is the splinter inside meWhile I wait





	Your Voice is All I Hear

It's amazing how much can change in just one year of somebody's life.  
  
One year ago, John had spent more hours than he cared to admit puzzling over the mystery that was the heart of Sherlock Holmes.  
  
John had watched him grieve the death of a woman they barely knew, a woman he wrote music for, a woman who almost made John admit that his relationship with Sherlock Holmes went beyond just simple, straightforward friendship.  
  
One year later that story, their story, was finished - put away into the annals of history and tabloid rags.  
  
But Sherlock was not finished with John.  
  
His name, the echo of his voice inside John's mind, was a splinter taking up residence in John's soul. It was worming its way deeper and deeper, so deep that John felt parts of himself begin to crack.  
  
Like now in the record shop, two days before Christmas, trying to find a present for Harry to let her know that he was still okay, still among the living, though just barely. As he gently sorted through old records in the drafty shop, looking for something vintage and fun that Harry might like, all John could hear was Sherlock criticizing him.  
  
_Boring. Boring. Predictable. Come on John, I thought you had better taste than that. Oh wait, this is for Harry. Why are you getting her a gift anyway? She'll barely have the mental forethought to send us - sorry, you - a Christmas card._  
  
He finally picked out a record, an artist he couldn't recall if Harry even liked, and went to pay for it before he began having a full blown panic attack.  
  
On his way to the front counter, John passed by the classical music section and stopped short, all remaining breath tearing from his lungs.  
  
His new flat was so empty now. Empty of possessions. Empty of people. Empty of music.  
  
But it didn't have to be.  
  
John fumbled through the records with fidgeting fingers until he found an album of violin solos by one particular composer - a name that sounded familiar, so maybe it was music Sherlock used to play. John bought both of the records and left the shop without his change.  
  
Back home in his cold and lonesome flat, John listened to the warm, enveloping sound of a violin, his body suffused with the warmth of whiskey, and he imagined a world where Sherlock still lived. John drifted into an uneasy sleep in his overstuffed chair, and Sherlock's voice followed him into the depths of his dreams.  
  
_You don't have to make this mistake. You don't have to stay this way. And yet, you miss me still._  
  
_Pity._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! :)


End file.
